


the au of the au

by KL_Morgan



Series: Destruction and other stories [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KL_Morgan/pseuds/KL_Morgan
Summary: Headcanons for the fluffy feel-good AU of "(my)Destruction Within Your Mouth," in which Clarke never regains her voice. NO SPOILERS for the main story after Chapter 15.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: Destruction and other stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/944973
Comments: 148
Kudos: 347





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So!
> 
> Way back in the wilds of 2016, when Destruction was just getting off the ground and was still in the cute "hey maybe this WON'T lead to tears" phase, I got an ask on tumblr about what that version of Clarke and Lexa would look like with kids. Knowing what I knew about what was coming for the main story, but still enjoying the question, I kind of created an AU for my own AU. 
> 
> The rules are simple: 
> 
> 1\. **Clarke will never get her voice back**. The tag was always "temporary" mutism for the main story, but if we abandon its plotline there's no reason why we can't have a gentle romance with a mute main character.
> 
> 2\. **Nothing in the au-au will also occur in the main story**. It's boring to write the same story twice, and that would mean spoilers in these prompt responses, so nope. The kids and the scenarios depicted live in this universe and no where else. 
> 
> These are just fun little prompt responses, and I originally wasn't going to post them to AO3 because they're so informal -- but tumblr is unreliable, there are accessibility issues, and so on. So here we are!

**[I forgot to save the original tumblr ask, but it asked what it would look like if Clarke and Lexa ever had children in the Destruction universe. I believe we were only around Chapter 9.]**

oooOOOOOOOoooooh boy, what a thorny question. (In the best way! Don’t feel bad!) I just – wow, these characters are going to go through a LOT MORE before we see our way through of everything, so I have to approach this from less of an “actual headcanon based on how the story ends” and more “pretend headcanon if we maintained the current status quo.” Okay?

… actually that’d be cute, wouldn’t it? Let’s say the Ark never comes down to Earth, Clarke never gets her voice back, and Nia, I don’t know, chokes on a salmon bone or something and Roan is released back to the Ice Kingdom on very strict instructions that he _play nice_ , which he does. And maybe the Mountain continues to terrorize but otherwise everyone lives in moderate contentment. Clarke would eventually learn Trig-style Sign – TSL? – and Lexa, of course, would absolutely learn with her. Ostensibly so that they could talk shit about the ambassadors throughout their meetings, but we all really know why Lexa would learn. Most people around the tower would pick up a few signs, and word around Polis is if you want to get in good with the Commander you at least learn to greet her witch politely. 

(I don’t think Clarke would ever tell Lexa where she comes from, I think by then she’d know how much Lexa would take it to heart to hear she’d killed Clarke’s people (because in this version of things that’s what happened), and Clarke would just… want to move on, let her old life die, sloughed off like an old skin. No point in living past pain. She wouldn’t lie to Lexa – she’d say she wasn’t from the Dead Zone, but she’d also promise her the rest wasn’t worth knowing, and by then Lexa would know _her_ well enough to trust that’s true. 

Eventually she asks Lexa to give her a new name, since TSL doesn’t have an alphabet and she can’t sign out C-L-A-R-K-E. So Lexa chooses one. It’s something ridiculously sappy, I’m not even going to say, and Lexa only ever signs it. They keep it a secret between them and don’t speak it aloud.)

DESPITE THAT RIDICULOUS GAYNESS I don’t think they end up _together-_ together for quite a while, since (as you have seen and will continue to see) Lexa is stubborn. So they’re not even a thing until way after their first “kid.”

Who comes about via Clarke’s work with Nyko, because she’s far and away his best student (of course she is, all that personal attention and training from her mother) and so they get to the point where she’s serving in his capacity as head healer of expeditions visiting areas in need. (And Sign training becomes a mandatory part of healer education, and Nyko’s friend from Chapter Four waits until he’s fluent enough to ream him out for an _hour_ about how long it took him to put _that_ practice into place.) One of these trips there’s a little boy, barely three years old, dark hair and eyes, and after seeing what the Reapers did to his family not only won’t he talk but human voices terrify him. Clarke is the only one who can get him to eat, or sleep for more than an hour at a time, so of course she takes him back to Polis. It’s not even a question. 

And Lexa is _furious_. Which absolutely no one sees coming, and everyone’s more than a little appalled at her, because she yells at Clarke that she has to find a different solution – she can’t just make him a part of her life, she’s not his _mother._ Clarke spends twenty seconds gaping at her and then two whole weeks ignoring her. She carries the little boy around in a backpack-like sling around the infirmary and dorms and the market and everyone adores him, though of course he doesn’t like to be touched or spoken to and they’re just happy when he removes his little face from Clarke’s shoulder to look at them with big owl eyes. He picks up Sign like a trooper, and eventually he uses it with people other than Clarke. She wakes up in the middle of one night to hear him breathing as he sleeps next to her in bed and realizes this is probably the rest of her life, and she’s happy about it.

So she drags herself out of bed and goes into Lexa’s room to wake her up and say: okay, I’m done ignoring you, let’s talk about this, what is the deal.

I think what they’ve been dancing around at this point is the issue of the two of them, what they’re becoming, despite Lexa’s best efforts to remain at arm’s length. So they talk and it’s hard, but they both manage to be as adult as possible about it, and through their conversation it becomes clear that Lexa is scared for Clarke. And maybe scared of losing her. And maybe scared for herself.

Because Clarke’s already in so much danger, with the role she performs and her closeness to the Commander. And that was… acceptable, because Clarke knows the risks and Lexa can protect her, can protect _one person_ , she’s capable of that. But a child makes Clarke more vulnerable. And also, Lexa can’t really accept putting a child into this kind of danger. 

Clarke, being Clarke, can sense that this is a big part of it but not _all_ of it, and I think after some more discussion she begins to understand what Lexa won’t say explicitly: she could possibly, maybe, see the two of them becoming lovers. Undercover, so that Clarke isn’t a walking target, keeping it something sweet and secret that nourishes them both.

But that isn’t what Clarke is doing. Clarke is doing family, and she’s doing a _future_ , and Lexa both wants that so badly and can’t handle the totality of potential _bad things_ that could happen if _she_ enters that equation. It’s absolutely everything she’s ever wanted. So of course she’s terrified of what it could cost. 

Clarke doesn’t really have an answer to that, because what can you say? Promise nothing bad will ever happen? They both know that’s not true. And while Clarke isn’t willing to live by what-ifs, she understands Lexa isn’t just weighing her happiness but the lives of the people she feels responsible for, which includes Clarke and this little boy. If the Commander has made her choice, Clarke loves and knows and respects her too much to try and get her to un-make it.

So there’s distance after that. Not coldness, like the two weeks Clarke ignored her, but a painful widening of space between them where Lexa visibly checks herself instead of reaching for Clarke, and Clarke’s hands start to cramp from every time she clenches them into fists instead of starting conversation. It makes her _hurt_ , but Clarke begins to think of setting up a home outside of Polis, somewhere Nyko needs another healer school, and only returning when they need to collaborate and compare notes. Because maybe the thought of leaving hurts, but it’s killing her by inches to constantly be around Lexa and not be allowed to love her.

There’s a Reaper attack just outside TonDC and Lexa is called away in the middle of the night. It’s nothing, it happens every other month or so, Clarke isn’t worried. (Well, no more than usual.) Until... see, she always waits to greet the warriors (Lexa) when they come back to Polis and turn their horses over to the stables. But this time Lexa isn’t out in front leading them, and as the warriors approach they send Clarke these _looks_ , almost afraid, and she thinks her heart is about to seize on the spot because _what has happened?_

She pushes through them to stand at the gate and finally, _finally_ , she can see Lexa bringing up the rear. Her horse is walking too slow and too careful, she’s hunched over and wrapped up in a cloak, it’s all wrong. Clarke is living a dozen awful explanations -- she’s hurt and wouldn’t let the healers in TonDC take care of her, she was hurt on the road, she’s hurt too badly for anything to be done she came home to die -- in five minutes that feel like fifty years of her life, which is when she knows she is never, ever leaving, and she doesn’t care if it kills her. 

Lexa starts when she sees Clarke, and her horse stops dead. She doesn’t _look_ like she’s in pain, her color’s good, and Clarke starts breathing again. 

Lexa dismounts, the most awkward Clarke has ever seen her, sliding down to the ground while trying not to jostle something in her arms. Clarke is reaching to pull away the cloak as Lexa steps close. 

She’s holding a baby. A _real_ baby, she can’t be two years old yet or Clarke will eat more voice-stealing, nuclear-mutated tubers. Half of her face is burned, hair singed away, with more burns on her neck and back. They’ve been treated and bandaged, as well as the burns on Lexa’s hands from when (Clarke can put together) she reached into whatever fire was blazing to pull the little girl out of it. 

The baby’s sleeping, breath shallow and erratic. Her baby hands are tangled in the leather straps that cross Lexa’s chest, and she’s grasping them so hard there are weals striping across her fingers and wrists. Clarke feels like she knows less about kids with each passing day since she found herself with one. But she does know how tightly they can hold on when they decide to, insistent and unyielding, until you have to either let them keep it or do something that might actually hurt.

“I couldn’t leave her,” Lexa confesses, like some awful secret or weakness on her part. Clarke just pulls Lexa's head down to her shoulder, because she knows Lexa only cries when she’s happy, and that she doesn’t like other people to see. Because this is everything they ever wanted. 

..... aaaand they’re cute and the kids are cute and I should stop there for now. I probably should have stopped _before_ I headcanoned for 1.5K, oops.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**[picture a screenshot here of how many anon asks I then got after that first headcanon, like, "BUT HOW DO THEY GET TOGETHER-TOGETHER, GIVE US THE DIRTY DEETS"]**

Oh my thirsty anons.

So. Okay. Clarke _definitely_ makes the first move. They’ve already acknowledged they have feelings, more or less (I’ll address that in _yet another prompt_ someone sent, wow, you guys like this universe I guess) but no one was doing shit about it. And then things came to a head when Clarke up and brought home a kid, and the confrontation I described in the first headcanon was the first time they spoke about these things _directly_ , and of course in the same move Lexa shut it down, because: Lexa.

Because here’s how I see Lexa: the depth of how badly she wants things scares her. I always thought the “love is weakness” line was an incredible tip-off, because it meant love was _her_ weakness. People who are actually unaffected by or even disdainful of love consider it _other people’s_ weakness, not one in general, and they tend to exploit that weakness to get what they want. (If engaged in a power struggle, like Lexa was.) They don’t share deeply personal stories of loss as a way of advising others on how to avoid pain. 

So the whole deal with Lexa losing her shit with the first baby, that’s because part of her wanted the idea of family and future – of _permanence_ – so damn bad she wasn’t sure where her want ended and her rationale of whether or not she _could_ have it began. She’s careful, careful, careful right up until she’s certain. Thus, once she allows herself to have certain things, it’s like opening the floodgates. 

… so the first weeks of having both the babies, Lexa is something of a complete fucking wreck. One of the children coughs, are they choking?! They’re fussing in their sleep, what do they need?! She’s not unused to dealing with children, I can’t imagine the nuclear unit has much heft in both a post-apocalyptic and war-ravaged society, sometimes you need someone to take care of a baby and if the Commander is the only one with a free hand, so be it. But these are _her_ babies. 

And Clarke is more than content to let her suffer at first, because a lot of her anger when she was ignoring Lexa wasn’t just about her ultimatums, it’s also that Clarke was going through all of the same wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-staring-down-at-her-child-thinking-" _oh-no-I’m-going-to-kill-him-by-accident"_ crazy anxiety growing pains that new parents get, only all on her own! So this is a bit of schadenfreude. 

Except. Well. They’re a family now, right? And they’re in love. And they’ve owned up to the fact, in their weird “force the issue by adopting children” ways, that they want this and they want each other and this should be _happening,_ but it’s not. Clarke has moved into Lexa’s quarters and the kids have been put in Clarke’s old room. And they’re tired, okay, kids are exhausting, and it was overwhelming to have everything 1000% all at once, so it was nice to agree to take their time when it came to each other. No rushing. Just being able to hold each other and not hide was – a lot. And then first kisses and soft touches but making things _count_ , making sure it’s about them and the slow education of each other’s bodies, instead of taking each other for granted just because they both know this is as close as either of them gets to forever. 

But again, Clarke is much more used to this whole _thing_ than Lexa is, so while at first she’s on board with Lexa’s new habit of getting up and bringing in the children’s cribs “just one more night, I don’t want them to be frightened and alone if they wake up,” it gets old quick. And daytime attacks aren’t much more effective: if she corners Lexa in between meetings or audiences, kisses her against a wall and places Lexa’s hands on that conveniently bare strip of skin on her stomach in her witch clothes, encourages her hand to move lower…

Eventually _something_ demands Lexa’s attention, and way too often it’s a wail from Clarke’s old room, because the handmaidens enjoy this new part of their duties and they’re good at it but that girlbaby has definite ideas about who her Nomon is, and it’s none of them, that’s for sure. Or even worse Lexa sometimes gets _distracted_ in the middle of a kiss and Clarke can just tell, she can practically _feel_ Lexa thinking about how they left their little boy with the new batch of apprentices but what if he’s bored by now? Or hungry? And it’s no use kissing someone when they’re like that.

(There are times, you know, when Clarke is the one who hears a baby crying or suddenly remembers some crucial bit of information she forgot to relay to caregivers, and she’s off like a shot leaving Lexa like “..?” But if you ask her, Clarke will maintain those times were _different_.) 

Let’s say this happens, oh, four times, because patience is not Clarke’s strong suit, and then she is Done With It. 

So she picks up both her babies and she takes them to Nyko, who has dealt with enough new parents to immediately recognize the flavor of frustrated determination on her face and it _pains him in a way that cannot be healed_ that he now knows even this much about his Commander’s sex life, but. Of course he’ll take them overnight, and he’s arguably one of the better signers in the tower at this point and he’s familiar, so the little boy is set. And Nyko recruits Hern to help because with kids even one-to-one care is pretty much “outnumbered” but it helps, and Hern is also a champion signer (b/c he’s Clarke’s bestie by now). The four of them have a ball; if you think those kids aren’t borderline worshiped by the tower’s inhabitants, because _Lexa’s kids_ and _Clarke’s kids_ and they’re pretty sweet kids on their own, you do not understand the point of this AU. 

So by the time Lexa makes it back to their quarters it is blissfully still, and quiet, and there isn’t a soul in the two rooms except Clarke, who is dozing beneath the sheets of their wonderful bed because she knows Lexa will wake her up. 

Lexa does so by running careful fingers through Clarke’s hair, tucking it over her ears, lifting it up so she can bend down and place open-mouthed kisses against the top of Clarke’s spine, choosing the placement of each one like she’s mapping out a world. 

“Just us?” she murmurs, and Clarke can hear the happiness in her voice, and the growing smile, even before she nods and turns over to sit up and start helping Lexa out of her buckles and armor. 

It all starts very promisingly, breathing coming a little harder and hands touching with growing surety, and Clarke’s soft gasps have Lexa shuddering, eyes wide and never leaving Clarke’s face. 

But as anyone will tell you old habits die _hard_ , so there’s a bit of:

“Do you think Nyko is aware that –”

Clarke yanks her back down. Kisses her hard.

“It’s just that I remembered –”

Clarke flips them, pushes her onto the pillows.

“I didn’t even say goodnig–”

Clarke pins Lexa by her shoulders and, one-handed, signs: I _f you leave me alone in this bed I will continue without you and I will be_ done _by the time you get back._

Lexa takes one look at her and swallows. Reaches up. Kisses her again. “Sorry,” she whispers against Clarke’s mouth. It’s an apology, it’s understood, for more than just tonight, and even more than the past few weeks – it’s for the months before adding up to almost years where she kept this from happening, kept Clarke at a distance and unkissed and alone. Lexa slips her hands down and then up in a slow, soft drag against Clarke’s ribcage. “I’ll make up for it.”

(she does)

Because, of course, this is the _other_ thing Lexa has wanted so badly but accepted she would never have. And I think she spends the rest of her life perfectly poised on the knife’s edge between those two wants, dividing what she has to give of her life between them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**["How about headcanons on how Lexa would act with the babies? After reading your response to that last headcanon Q, I can't stop thinking of Lexa + kids 😩"]**

It wouldn’t help that she really scared the little boy when he first came to Polis by yelling at Clarke for the decision to adopt him, not that she ever did it when he was in the _room_ but her voice carries. He spent a couple months hiding his face somewhere in Clarke’s clothing whenever Lexa was around, which of course just shredded her heart. So what with his being frightened by human voices in general and hers when she _yelled_ she adopts the other extreme and – for at least a year or two? – stops talking around him. At all. She uses Sign if he’s anywhere close to earshot. Not just _with_ him, I mean with _everyone_. She almost catches up to Clarke in terms of fluency this way.

Most people just go with it, because most in the tower have already picked up basic Sign, and why would Lexa even want to talk to the kind of people who haven’t yet, I mean she _doesn’t_ want to, and now she has an actual excuse, and sometimes Clarke accuses her of taking advantage of that. It certainly makes audiences in the throne room more fun for Lexa. Because she and Clarke tend to trade off who’s looking after which kid that day (obviously they have other options, but whenever they can they _like_ to spend the days with their kids, and one-on-one). So whenever it’s the little boy in the throne room with her, she signs, and while she allows Titus to translate (”Heda would like you to know that…”) for common people seeking an audience, she’s very cheerful to dismiss him when dealing with ambassadors or warlords or anyone else she enjoys watching struggle because they haven’t bothered to learn this particular language yet. 

And you’d think they’d have it easier when Lexa’s taking care of the baby girl that day, and maybe bribe someone to figure out the schedule so they can carefully plan their audiences for when Lexa deigns to _open her mouth_ , but no. No, Lexa learned her lesson re: parenting traumatized war orphans. She might talk, but she talks in the gentlest, most engaged, most _soothing_ tone of voice you’ve heard come out of a human being. And you’d think it’d make her less intimidating. But, as it turns out, listening to the Commander of the twelve clans say “and if you don’t have the stomach to swallow your pride and grant these concessions, I will open it up and watch your guts spill onto the ground” as if she’s reading a bedtime story, and while she tickles a giggling baby’s feet, is actually unnerving on a _whole new scale._

And heaven forbid you ever raise YOUR voice in response, one dude did that, and Lexa was very calm about it, she handed the baby to Gustus (the baby _loves Gustus_ , or at least pulling on his beard, and you wouldn’t think it was attached to any kind of nerve response from the way he lets her), and she invited the dude onto the balcony, and the next thing you know she had the baby back in her arms and was teaching her to wave down to the ground and say “leida.” 

So people don’t yell around their kids anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**["In au au I bet they lead very happy and fulfilling lives with no regrets. Also Clarke teaches Lexa sign language and when she grabs her hand to correct what her fingers look like, it usually turns into Clarke getting distracted and playing with Lexa's hands"]**

That’s absolutely their lives in the au au, it’s where all the sunshine and cuteness lives. 

Actually I like your idea and declare it au au canon – Lexa’s Sign skills _absolutely_ suffer from Clarke’s habit of reaching out and correcting her. Not deliberately! But! This is the only real touch Lexa allows between them, at this point, and although she _means_ to remember and not make Clarke have to correct her on certain words and expressions she’ll cast back to the lesson and only be able to recall how close Clarke stood, and skin against skin. 

Of course when the babies show up she gets her act together, but. Maybe -- for a _little while -- s_ he’s guilty of letting Clarke think otherwise, especially since this is around the time they start sleeping together, so she moves her fingers a little too slow or a little too off and she knows Clarke is going to get impatient… and that’s when Lexa uses the excuse to tighten her grip on the hands adjusting hers, and pull her in…

But then Clarke catches her signing with the little boy one day, coming back early when she can’t find what she wants at the market. Lexa looks up to find her standing there watching them, and she’s surprised and delighted to have Clarke during a rare period of free time, but… Clarke’s expression is a little… and then Lexa realizes Clarke just caught her signing approximately three times faster than usual, and with a precision she usually lacks. The lack of which usually leads to a lot of stolen moments, even canceled audiences. 

And that she is so, so busted. 


	5. Chapter 5

**["au au question: When they're officially a family, would Lexa become more cautious of her own safety, like delegating more to her generals, staying in Polis most of the time when her presence is not necessarily required? I think she knows Clarke is strong enough to handle if something happened to her (you-know-what) but WHAT ABOUT THE BABIES?"]**

So… I actually can’t agree with the idea that Lexa would start becoming more cautious. I can’t see it, even with the babies. She’s already cautious to begin with and doesn’t take unnecessary risks – and the impulse to draw back even further was certainly one of the reasons she didn’t think she _should_ have family, didn't think she _should_ be allowed to have a group of people she prioritizes, in her heart of hearts, above the rest of her subjects. But now she does, and there’s no going back. It’s not something she every allows herself to act on, though. That would be anathema to everything she is. 

What I CAN see is, actually, something of the opposite – Lexa being that much more willing to cut negotiations short and be like, “alright, are we fighting to the death or are we fighting to the death?” And overall having a tenth of the patience with bluster and posturing which usually occupies most of these skirmishes, instead willing to dive _right_ into the bloodshed. Not because she’s eager to put herself at risk, but because she just wants it over and done with. 

Which… turns out to be oddly effective, in its own way. You have to imagine that most of the people causing trouble at this point (because as stated, in this universe Nia chokes on a salmon bone and the Mountain is pretty sleepy) are young and brash and just want to prove their mettle. Older warriors, or those with more ordinary lives – they’d only value the peace Lexa has ushered in with her reign. And maybe they have families of their own, they’re aware of how much that _eats up_ your time and attention and overall forbearance for bullshit. So all those trouble-making warriors soon learn: hell hath no fury like a woman raised from birth to be a ruthless warlord who now just wants to get home to her wife and kids. 


	6. Chapter 6

**[again, apologies, I lost the actual ask -- I think the anon wanted to know if Clarke ever dealt with jealousy in the au-au before she and Lexa properly got together]**

So in my head, the au-au properly diverges from the end of Ch 12 of Destruction, or maybe mid-Ch 13-ish – the kiss and the fallout, and then Lexa making it as clear as possible that, no, she’s sorry, but she won’t allow this to happen.

(Which is partially why I waited so long to respond to these prompts, although I thought I’d get to that part in the story a LOT sooner.)

Anyway. It’s not like Lexa’s going to flirt with anyone. And contrary to Clarke’s evaluation of the situation, she’s not very eager to jump into bed with anyone else, either. 

But come on. We’ve all _seen_ Lexa.

So it’s… an issue. Not so much in Polis. Polis got to see, up close and personal, just how much Costia’s death changed Lexa. And while there are those who adore her or sigh after her from afar, they’ve got eyes. They can see how Clarke’s presence changes things. Lexa isn’t who she was before, but she’s not who she has been, either. Her wood witch has made her into something new, and they don’t want to disturb whatever fragile equilibrium their Commander has found.

… girls from more far-flung Clans can be another matter. 

So it becomes a problem! When they go on those tours Lexa talked about, and visit all these new cities and places and people! Because, here’s the thing: Lexa _is_ different, now, which means her guard is, if not completely down, then significantly lowered. She smiles more. She even laughs, sometimes. She’s never been anything but gracious, but now she’s _warm_.

And, oh boy, do those girls and woman and warriors enjoy it.

And see, okay, Lexa, Lexa _has no idea_. Clarke may have a blind spot when it comes to Lexa, but Lexa has one when it comes to _herself_. She’s like, “significant change in my demeanor? what? where? no.” 

She’s _happy_ , and what Lexa doesn’t know is that when she’s happy it spills out of her in small ways, possibly because she’s so intent on keeping that sunshine inside her and secret she thinks, as long as she’s not looking at _Clarke,_ that no one can see it.

Obviously they can, they just misjudge the reason.

… as does Clarke. Because, as I said, the only thing Lexa is really be careful about is not allowing herself to feel happy when looking at _her_.

And she gets. Not angry. Angry would be unfair, because she did _ask,_ in her own way, and she was given a very clear answer. And _she_ made the choice in the end: she didn’t say, no, love me or nothing. She was the one who accepted a place at Lexa’s right hand, after being told there was none for her in Lexa’s heart.

And it’s hard. Sometimes, it’s even a little miserable.

So she’s very careful with her misery, and she doesn’t do more than wet her lips every once in a while at these welcome celebrations where the alcohol is poured. Meanwhile Lexa is careful in all the wrong ways, and drinks because she _is_ happy, and while she does almost nothing to excess she does tend to… shine brighter, a bit, on those nights, and lean her head in very close to hear the joke from her attractive neighbor at the dinner table, or even throw a wink to the newly-blooded warrior who’s barely old enough to sit up this late, in fact this is her first time doing so and it’s only allowed because when else would she get to share salt and bread with the Commander.

But Clarke is the one she leans on when walking back to her tent that night, and Clarke is the one who helps her with her boots and to roll into bed. And again: Lexa’s blindspot is _herself_ , not Clarke, so somewhere in the middle of this she reaches out to grab her wood witch’s face with both hands and holds her there, searching her expression. Her eyes go wide.

“You can’t think I –” she blurts out, and then cuts herself off, because she may have been drinking but she would never drink as much as it required to finish that sentence out loud.

Instead she pulls Clarke close until her head is resting on Lexa’s shoulder, and she whispers, as if she’s afraid of being overheard by jealous spirits: “It’s because of _you_. Not them. I don’t… you are the only…” She’s quiet for a moment, wrestling down all the words that grow inside her and must never, she thinks, see the light of day. 

“If it were anyone,” she says finally, holding Clarke so close she’s speaking into the soft and wonderful places where jaw and neck meet shoulder, the kind of place a lover would put kisses, “it would be you. Before any of them. If I could.” She shuts her eyes and rests her forehead against Clarke’s temple. “If I was someone who could.”

It doesn’t take away Clarke’s hurt, but it does soothe it. And then Lexa doesn’t let her go, since the wine loosens her enough to be this selfish for this once. (And again, she can _see_ how upset Clarke was, that’s not supposed to happen, that was the whole point of Lexa’s carefulness.) So she curls up in Lexa’s arms and sleeps there. It’s not everything. But it’s nice. 

And if Lexa wakes and leaves the tent before Clarke does the next morning, she didn’t expect anything different. Things don’t change, much, and she didn’t expect them to either. But every now and again, in the middle of gaiety and laughter and Lexa’s warmth spilling over everyone like the sun, Clarke will look up and find Lexa’s eyes on her, and she’ll remember: _It’s because of you._


	7. Chapter 7

**["In au au, are Lexas and Clarkes kids mischievous, how do the lovely couple discipline them?"]**

Interestingly enough, the kids are not too mischievous. Well, the boy isn’t.

(I realized why I was loath to name them instead of constantly using “the boy” and “the girl.” It’s because their names are in Sign. Obviously the boy-child who refused to talk for so long used Sign for the longest time and had Clarke help pick out a name for him. The baby, the girl? Saw them do it, in fact she could sign before she could talk properly, and made up her own signal to mean “me, aka the baby, aka the one you should being paying attention to/giving that treat/cuddling right now.”

So _those_ are their names and I can’t transcribe them. If people talk to them, they’re required to use their name-sign. Some people – _very few_ – are allowed to use certain spoken nicknames which are really epithets instead of proper “names.” This includes Anya, because if Anya is not allowed to bellow some kind of moniker in public spaces at times that promote the most embarrassment, she doesn’t know how to demonstrate affection to younger children. Especially since Clarke is not letting her start their blade-training until they’re at least _eight_ , she’s very firm on that. 

The general people of Polis (and beyond) have _terms_ for them, though, like titles. Only they’re not official titles since no Commander ever had acknowledged children before. So there’s no direct translation for their titles, it’s a very informal-ish contraction of several Trigedasleng words: Hednirga for the girl, Hednirska for the boy.)

The boy is a war refugee, so he’s… not very rambunctious. He’s a very serious little guy. Part of this is the abandonment issues – he’s very keen to be _wanted_ – and part of it is how both of the kids were raised, tagging along with their parents every day. Children usually get into trouble when they’re bored or under-stimulated, and there’s too much to _do_ in an infirmary: washing linens, boiling water, sorting herbs, comforting patients. Clarke puts them to work as soon as they want, because why not, and also she’s whatever the polar opposite of a helicopter mom is called. _Oh, did you cut yourself? Well now you know not to pick that up._

And the boy is very much Clarke’s son. He _loves_ Lexa but he is never quite crazy about how many people she has to _talk_ to on a daily basis, and so every once in a while when he’s supposed to spend the day with her he disappears, only to turn up, after a frantic search, in the laundry room helping to sanitize bandages. (For instance.) Lexa gets a little droopy about it, but she’s not about to punish him for knowing what he likes especially since she’d happily join him instead of meeting with the Shadow Valley representatives for the _fourth time_. And the boy is always the one to turn himself in when he’s been naughty, mouth already wobbling as he signs what he did and how upset he is at himself and he understands if they’re angry and he promises not to cry if they decide to send him back. 

The girl is Lexa’s. Even as a baby she wouldn’t fuss during long meetings, somehow content to suck her fist and level her little baby frowns at uncooperative generals and opportunistic merchants from Lexa’s lap. Whenever she gets tired she just turns over so that she’s lying on her stomach across Lexa’s chest, head tucked under Lexa’s chin, and conks out. The Commander once went five rounds with representatives from Delphi about recent raiding just like that, no one raising their voice above a whisper. 

Anyway, everyone spoils the girl rotten. It’s just _so easy_ , with her sproingy black curls and her soft little cheeks and her habit of giggling as she signs with clumsy baby hands. And her brother’s the worst, they found out pretty quickly he was _taking the blame_ for things like spilled drinks or food thrown across the room (he never tried that on Clarke or Lexa, they know better and they know what an aim his sister has, but other people) because he is _awful_ about her, he teaches her the sign for everything and carries her everywhere and holds her hands when she’s learning to walk. They say to her _aren’t you sad when he gets scolded for something_ you _did_ and she will just clap her lands and laugh and sign _brother_ and _love_. 

But they don’t really get in trouble? Not _big_ trouble? Clarke and Lexa quickly learn to wield the power of I Still Love You But I Am Very Disappointed Right Now, which is a lot more effective than scolding or punishments for their children. Because there’s always someone in the tower willing to hug them when they’ve been bad or sneak them sweets when they’ve been told they can’t have any. But no one else can give them Lexa’s smile when she’s proud, or the approval in Clarke’s eyes when they’ve been clever; no one else explains things and trusts them to understand, or at least return that trust, like their parents. 

And so the kids are……… _basically_ …… pretty good.


	8. Chapter 8

**["Could we get some fluffy au au headcanons of Clarke worrying over Lexa's wounds/ or a possible assassination attempt on Lexa and Clarke's response? ☺️ I just love seeing these to worry about each other!"]**

… so, Clarke is kind of a jerk.

Whenever Lexa comes home with wounds, Clarke is very _understanding._ She is _conciliatory._ She bandages Lexa up quickly and skillfully, she doesn’t wrap bandages just that bit too tight or make Lexa drink the tea she hates. She’s all big eyes and soft hands and gentleness, and the thing is, despite how long she’s known her, Lexa falls for it.

She falls for it in part because, in her heart of hearts, Lexa loves being fussed over. Not by everyone or just anyone, but Clarke? Lexa preens. Just a bit. Look at me: so brave, so strong, they tried to kill me but they failed! Love and cherish me ~~and coddle me when no one else is looking.~~

And Clarke is happy to oblige!

Except. 

Except whenever she lovingly leads Lexa back to their adjoined rooms for a necessary recuperation, whenever she allows herself to be drawn into a soft kiss now that they’re alone, whenever softness turns to heat and clothes start to be pushed aside, Clarke will draw back.

 _Your wound_ , she’ll sign, with an expression of tragicomic dismay. And then no protestations from Lexa will keep her from withdrawing and sleeping on her own for the next handful of nights.

Now, Lexa isn’t stupid or slow enough to let herself get seriously hurt, so it takes a while for her to spot a pattern. The first time it happens it _is_ a nasty scrape along her spine, so Clarke’s worries are valid. The second time it’s after someone took a chunk out of fairly high up on her thigh, which, fair. 

But the fifth time, Clarke pushes her down and shoves her under the covers for nothing more than a speckle of bruises across Lexa’s shoulders where someone brought a heavy sword down with the intent to take off her head. Clarke is halfway back to her own room before it clicks:

Lexa sits bolt upright in bed. “You’re doing this on _purpose_.”

Clarke smiles at her, serene.

Then she shuts the door between their rooms, and throws the bolt for good measure.

… afterward, Lexa sulks on the sidelines and conducts whatever battles need to be fought, instead of jumping into the fray herself unless vitally necessary. Which, to be fair, is what she was supposed to _to begin with_ as Commander. So actually all her generals are relieved and grateful that something – no, they do not ask what! _they do not want to know._ but something. – has changed Lexa’s mind about the supreme leader’s presence on the battlefield.

Anya is, truth be told, especially happy about it. That doesn’t mean she refrains from murmuring “say hi to your witch for me” whenever they return to the Tower stables after a skirmish. The back of Lexa’s neck always turns red, but she walks quickly and stiff-shouldered back to her rooms, despite that. 

She may be grumpy about it, but she’s still about to get hers. 


	9. Chapter 9

**["Are there any traditions that Clarke and lexa have in the au au? Something that they have forged for themselves?"]**

Nothing huge? Nothing in the way of gift exchanges? I imagine lack of resources on the ship put a pause on extracurricular gift-giving. And on the ground the focus of seasonal ceremonies is on communal bonding, strengthening support during the hard time (or good ones) rather than acquisition of possessions. 

But do you remember those nomads in the TWQR universe, who make gyon klin wine? They exist here, too, and they live in the unclaimed territory west of the Plains Riders. They exist in tribes rather than a clan, so they can’t really be absorbed into the Coalition – they would politely refuse if asked, anyway. Which makes the clans that border on the wilderness kinda nervous.

The solution is that every couple of years, Lexa makes a point of traveling out to the tribes and spending a season with them: learning their language and culture, their history, so that she can better understand them and help soothe her people’s fears about this unknown element. The tribes are cool with it, as soon as they begin to trust that Lexa really _is_ there to learn and listen, not colonize. They _like_ not ducking Plains Riders’ arrows. And for what it’s worth they like Lexa: they respect the fact of the Coalition even if they don’t want to join it. 

The first time she goes is right _before_ the Coalition is settled on – figuring out a trade agreement with the tribes (gyon klin wine is, uh, popular) was part of Plains Riders’ demands in joining – but almost four years pass after that, until Lexa can’t put it off any longer. She’s kind of shattered at the idea of leaving Clarke and the kids for so long, but Clarke tells her: _They’ll adapt. They’ll be sad for a while, but children are tough_.

 _Will you adapt_? Lexa signs back, feeling a little sulky at the idea.

 _I’m coming with you_.

And it becomes their thing. They don’t _love_ leaving the kids behind, but on the other hand… they are still really young, and they never really did get a chance to just be the two of them, together, and know what that means. The trips give them a chance to do that. 

It’s never for very long and it’s not very often, but that’s their tradition: riding off past the boundaries of the known world to sleep in a tent, far away from the luxury of Polis. But also far away from generals and advisors and anyone who calls Lexa _Commander_. Far away from all the sickness and death that sometimes make Clarke feel she’s trying to scoop water back into a cracked bucket. Lexa learns to cook three-course meals over a campfire with the tribes’ spices and how to sing their history songs; Clarke learns how to ride a horse bareback, how to dance to the fiddle when it’s played. They always come back to Polis exactly whenever they promised their children they would _be_ back, a little windburned and travel-worn and very happy to return to their own soft bed. 

But they’re never sad to leave, either, and the memories of nights under the stars when it feels like they’re the only two people in the whole wide world are very precious. 


End file.
